


a number by any other name

by cicadas



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Grace's POV, headcanon: five's name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/cicadas
Summary: When she was made, her initial title was Model A1200.Grace knew that having a number made her who she was, but having a name made her part of a family. She wanted the same for her children.Sir. Hargreeves allowed the notion when she proposed it as a possible birthday gift, with one exception: Number Five was not to be given a name.





	a number by any other name

They were given names on their tenth birthday.

It was cold for October, and the fireplaces in the mansion didn't quite cut it against the breeze that would blow in under the doors, or the ice that would build up on the windows, especially in the far rooms that were mostly left unused.

It was in one of these rooms that Grace Hargreeves decided on the perfect gift for her boys and girls: Names. Proper names, like all those children she'd hear stories about when her own came back from missions, out there in the great big world. They did so much good, but were still only defined by their numbers. She knew how that felt.

When she was made, her initial title was Model A1200. She would be called that for at least one month during programming, duress tests and formal speech sessions with Sir. Hargreeves. Then she asked for a name - a proper name with which to introduce herself - and she was allowed to choose one. It was only fitting the children be allowed to do the same.

So, a few minutes before her dinner preparations were to begin, Grace sought out her maker and asked him for permission. It was granted—with one exception.

"Number Five is not to be given a name."

Sir didn't look up from his journal when he spoke, which was more than commonplace when speaking, especially to Grace. She smiled at the top of his head. Inside, she could feel a system flaring up at the base of her vertebrae. She was modelled after the modern American woman, but she wasn't one. She ran on code, no matter how much she learned, or how much she wanted to do. Things would reset overnight and she would return to her baseline procedures.

The urge to question this request was purged from her system the moment it appeared.

"Of course, Sir." Grace continued the smile that never left her face, and left he room as quietly as she could so as not to disturb his writing.

It was simple to choose. She ran through various options, factoring in birth place, meaning, and individual personality. She chose Luther's name while steaming broccoli, Diego's name while checking the temperature of the chicken in the oven, Allison's while setting the table, and Klaus' while arranging the plates.

She only paused for a brief moment to think about options for Number Five before she resumed folding the thick napkins at each seat, and moved on to Number Six. Ben, she decided. Simple and sweet for such a sweet boy. And Vanya: gracious gift. Yes, those would do nicely.

The chicken was taken out of the oven and placed in the middle of the table. Sir. Hargreeves rang the bell that had them all lined up at the entrance to the dining room, and then they sat, one by one, in their usual seats. Number One next to Two, Two next to Three, and so on. Grace felt a small buzz of joy as she walked around to the middle of the table so she could carve slices of meat for the children. They were not permitted to speak during meal times, but after all plates were cleared, they had fifteen minutes to sit in the lounge and talk together. This was when she would give them her present.

Grace looked over at Five, chewing rather messily on a large piece of steamed broccoli, and the buzz died down into nothingness. She kept the smile on her face and looked back to the carving knife in her hands.

"One more slice for you, Number One?" She asked gently.

Number One shook his head - this means no without words - and continued cutting up the last of his chicken. Then he paused, looked up again, and gave her a shy smile, accompanied by a small nod. Yes without words. Grace carved another, slightly larger piece from the chicken and placed it onto his extended plate.

"Thanks, Mom."

Sir's fork clattered when he set it down rather quickly onto the tabletop. "Number One, there is to be no speaking with your mouth full."

Number One's eyes darted down to his lap, and Grace looked away. His disciplines were none of her concern.

In the lounge, the children bounced eagerly on the couches, awaiting the 'surprise' they'd been promised.

"Is it dessert? I bet it's dessert."

"It won't be dessert, Four, we aren't in the kitchen."

"It could still be dessert!"

"Mom, what is it?"

Grace watched them all grow restless, feeling her systems whir into overdrive at the need to enforce order when she would rather listen to them speaking to freely, jittering about and being the selves they are when no-one is watching.

When Four and Six started to play wrestle, however, she cleared her throat, and all seven sit up straight in their seats.

"My present for you is a very special one. You all will only turn ten once, of course! I've asked your father for permission, and he has allowed me to give you all..."

"Money?" Number Four interjected.

Grace smiled, shaking her head. "No, silly. Names. I've chosen a name for most of you that you will be able to have all for your own. A name I can call you by, like the way you all call me 'Mom'."

There's a moment of excited whispers between the children, and Number One spoke up.

"When you say 'most of us', you mean only some of us get a name?" He asked, frowning as if he was worried it would be him that missed out. It was one of his greatest fears that she knew of.

"Luther," She announced, Number One's eyes still watching her cautiously, "I've decided on Luther for you, Number One."

At that, the others perked up. Grace cast her eyes to Number Three, who was sitting closely beside him, and smiled.

"Allison," She said, and the girl beamed.

"Diego. Klaus. Vanya." Grace watched them all keep a contained joy in their faces as the told them her choices, and it pleased her endlessly to know they appreciated them.

Then she turned her head to the armchair in the corner, and she saw Five watching her expectantly. Hopeful, but resigned. Grace let her smile fall into a different setting, and her eyes drooped to match. Five was smart, and attentive, especially for such a young boy. He was able to keep up with conversations between Sir. Hargreeves and Pogo about subjects he hadn't even been taught yet, and he was always the most focused on practising elements of his ability he felt were out of reach. He'd get there, he would say. He just needed time.

Grace looked into the boy's eyes, and his expression fell into the acquiescence she mostly saw in the presence of his father.

She reached over to pat him on the knee, but he bent his legs away.

"Did he say why?"

"Your father?" Grace asked softly.

Number Five snorted. "Who else? I highly doubt this was your decision."

Grace retreated her hand back to her lap. "Your father didn't give a reason, I'm afraid. I'm sure if you ask him-"

"He'll tell me it's not my place to question him, is what he'll tell me. Never mind. It's not your fault, Mom. You did great with the others." Five smacked his hands down on his legs and stood, "This has been a wonderful birthday. I'm going to my room."

The children gave small waves and murmured goodbyes as Number Five exited the room, his pace giving no indication to the fact that he was upset. She knew Sir didn't like that, so they didn't do it.

"Did Dad really say that?"

Grace looked over to Vanya - little, quiet Vanya - who was twirling the ends of her long hair. When she noticed heads had turned in her direction, she hid her face in her hair.

"I just mean that...It's kinda mean. Can't you choose something in secret?" The girl continued.

_I could—_

_That's so thoughtful—_

_I suppose—_

_ Why don't we— _

The lines were terminated half-formed. Grace blinked twice in succession as her coda recreated her sentences for her, finding the most acceptable response in approximately one microsecond.

"Your father has already made his decision. I'm sure he has a reason for this, as he does for everything pertaining to you children. He cares about you all so much." Grace said, bringing back her usual household smile.

Klaus kicked the base of the sofa.

"That's shit, Mom."

"Klaus!" Grace scolded, "That is not the word we use to express our feelings."

"It's garbage, Mom," Klaus corrected, "It's a pile of trash. And don't call me Klaus! If Five has to stay Five, I'm staying Number Four."

He stood, much less reserved than his brother, and marched off in the direction of the stairwell. Grace watched him go, wishing she were able to do anything other than sit and smile and speak at a set volume.

"He's right, in a way," Ben said quietly.

"Your father-" Grace began, but stopped when she saw the faces of the other children, looking at her with tired eyes and closed mouths.

One by one, they gathered themselves up off the couch and made their way towards the stairs without making a sound. Grace remained in her chair until they were gone. Until it was dark out, and it was time for her to say goodnight to each of them and turn their lights out - except for Klaus, who had an orange night-light.

She found Sir in his office, writing in his journal with the fountain pen she'd refilled for him just that morning.

Number Five waited somewhat nervously by the door.

He was dressed in his pyjamas, freshly washed, dried and pressed- still warm when she laid them out on his bed, attending to his room before the others in a slight deviation of her usual schedule. He seemed confused by her appearance at 7:12 rather than 7:15, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he looked up at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes and asked her very carefully if she would take him to see Father. She agreed.

They waited for a few moments in the entryway after Grace knocked, ensuring Sir knew of their presence before she spoke, so as not to disturb him or catch him in the middle of an important thought. She knew how busy he was, and how vital the hours at the end of the day were for him. She also knew how important it was for the children to be able to see him and feel like they could talk to him, so she knocked again.

"Number Five would like to see you, Sir," Grace announced, pulling her cheeks up into a higher-setting smile. She could feel the artificial lipstick filling out her lips as they stretched.

Sir did not look up from his desk.

Grace flattened her skirt with palms that would never be cold or dry - her internal heating core made sure she was warm to the touch at all times, like real human skin would be - and glanced at Five. He wasn't looking at her.

"Dad. I have a question for you," He began, confident and sure despite wet eyelashes.

Sir scratched a few more lines with his pen, then set it in the wooden holder to his left. His monocle glinted in the lamplight when he looked up.

"Number Five, bed-time is from seven thirty p.m to five a.m. You are to either be reading or revising studies in the half hour before lights out." He said, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

Number Five straightened his back. Grace noticed a tiny wrinkle in the pocket of his button-up shirt and moved to flatten it with her thumb. Five stepped forward, further into the study.

"I want to know why the others were permitted names, but not me."

Sir's eyes flicked to Grace. She averted her own down to the floor.

"Number Five, these 'names' your mother has given are trivial. Fatuous. They hold absolutely no meaning to your training, or to your place in the Academy. Surely you should know this, Number Five. You have always shown intellect greater than that of your siblings." Sir picked his pen out of the holder and held it in his hand, pointing the nib at Five's chest from afar.

Number Five held his posture. Grace watched him, wondering whether he would accept the praise as he often did, and excuse himself out of the room. She clutched her hands behind her back, ready to escort him back to his room.

Number Five didn't do this. Instead, he marched forward, passing the darkened wood panel on the floor that the children were not permitted to cross, and slammed his hands down on the desk hard enough to rattle the various ornaments organised atop it.

"I want a name. If I'm so much smarter than them, why do they get a reward and I don't? That should mean I've been working hard, right? Why am I being punished?" He demanded.

Grace noticed the way his hands trembled in small fists. They weren't glowing, however. That, she was proud of. They'd been working on controlling emotion linked to accidental spatial jumps when Sir was busy and Five was terribly upset, usually on nights of training when he was too tired to properly communicate himself.

The sound of wood scraping against wood took her attention away from Five and up to the figure of Sir. Hargreeves now leaning over the desk, his face set into a hard line.

"You are a disappointment, Number Five. You cannot possibly comprehend the power you have inside you. Your abilities will allow you to travel to different timelines, possibly different dimensions, where you will be known by many different names and faces. Allowing you to choose something now, so young, will be setting you up for failure in the future. Familiarity will weaken you, Number Five."

"But the others—"

"Do not share your gift. They are caught up in frivolity when they should realise the importance of the numbers they have been given. In the expanse of space and time, such associations are meaningless. I assumed you would know better, given your outspoken desire to travel through time yourself."

"But, Dad—"

"Enough! I will not speak on this any longer. I advise you do not mention it, and never place your hands on this desk again. Grace, take Number Five back to his room."

Sir flipped to a fresh page of his journal and set the pen down. He did not look back up at either of them.

In his room, Number Five resigned himself to bed without so much as a glance at the introduction to physics book beside his lamp. Grace had set down a glass of warm milk and two buttermilk cookies in the space left on the table. He hadn't touched those, either.

Grace sat at the end of the mattress, causing a dent in the foam. She rested her hand on the covers where Five's foot stuck out made a small hill. He didn't flinch away when she started to rub soothing patterns into the duck down, which she took as a sign that he might listen when she spoke.

"Everything your father does is for a reason, Number Five. I'm sure you'll understand when you're older, just like he said." She said, quiet and comforting.

Number Five let out a breath into his pillow.

"You don't have to do that, Mom."

Grace paused. "Do what, sweetie?"

Five turned his head away from the pillow, so Grace could see his floppy fringe and eyebrows pulled together. "You don't have to defend him all the time. Just...say goodnight. It's past my bedtime."

He rolled over, and his foot slipped out of Grace's grasp. She curled her fingers into her palm, hovering them over the covers.

She waited there for a moment, wanting to do anything she could to make him feel better before he fell asleep - nobody should go to sleep unhappy - but each thought seemed to come and go without fully taking form. Words that went against Sir did not exist in any part of her being.

Grace frowned at the boy facing away from her before she felt it soften automatically into a patient smile. She stood, reaching over to switch off his lamp so that he could sleep. She left the milk and cookies where they were.

_Eric,_ she thought. The word sparked up just long enough to be clear before it was extinguished, never making it to her vocal processors to be voiced out loud. It would remain there, a piece of unauthorised code dormant in her system, until she sat in her chair before her lovely pictures to recharge for the night.

She pulled the door until it was almost closed and looked in at the boy once more, illuminated by the strip of yellow light coming from the hall. He hadn't turned over, but she heard his words through the muffling of the covers.

"Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, Number Five." 

Grace's heels clicked along the wood floors as she walked away from her boy's bedroom, towards the opposite end of the house where the name would be dissolved from her mind, replaced with tomorrow's breakfast recipes and the children's training regimes.

_Eric, _she thought.

His name would have been Eric.


End file.
